


Moment of Weakness

by longleggedgit



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 08:28:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longleggedgit/pseuds/longleggedgit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Arthur is very drunk, and Merlin is not a very good manservant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moment of Weakness

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [](http://cmere.livejournal.com/profile)[**cmere**](http://cmere.livejournal.com/) and [](http://reallycorking.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://reallycorking.livejournal.com/)**reallycorking** for betaing!

Merlin's not entirely sober himself when Uther leads his son across the court and drapes his arm unceremoniously across Merlin's shoulders, hissing _"Get him out of here"_ under his breath. But, taking a good look at Arthur as they plod carefully out of the banquet room and up the stone steps toward Arthur's chambers, he has to wonder how much wine a person even needs to consume to achieve that level of intoxication.

"Almost there," Merlin says, trying not to let his own unsteady legs fail them as Arthur vastly overshoots the top step and collapses to his knees. Arthur pauses for a moment to evaluate his situation and then breaks into snorting laughter.

"That wasn't terribly prince-like," he slurs.

"No," Merlin agrees, "it was not." He helps Arthur back to his feet and drags them the last few steps forward to Arthur's doors, pausing only to kick them open.

Arthur exclaims " _Careful_ " with great fervor, and even though Merlin has no idea whether he's being told to take care with the doors or with Arthur, he mutters something vaguely apologetic under his breath and then kicks them closed behind them.

"That was _excruciating_ ," Arthur says, tearing himself away from Merlin and staggering over to his bed. "If I ever have to listen to Lady Mildred talking for more than half a minute again I'm going to cut my ears off, I swear it." He flops on his back with such predictable melodrama that Merlin has to roll his eyes.

"You seemed to find some way to entertain yourself," Merlin says, elbowing Arthur in the ribs so he shifts his weight enough that Merlin can get the blankets out from underneath him. He turns them down and then pats Arthur on the knee. "Sit up."

Arthur groans but does as he's told. "You'd have had a healthy serving of wine, too, if you had to listen to that," he insists.

"That wasn't 'a healthy serving of wine,'" Merlin says. "It was five or six. Which I think by definition makes it _un_ healthy."

He doesn't bring up the fact that he _did_ ingest a healthy serving of wine or two himself, if only to make it easier to listen to the shrill-voiced noblewomen he was expected to wait on tittering about Arthur's – well, _everything_ – every time he refilled their goblets. As is, he's nowhere near Arthur's level of incoherence, but nonetheless looks forward to drinking a tall glass of water before passing out in his own bed.

Merlin bends down to tug off Arthur's boots and Arthur waves a dismissive hand at him. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, naturally." Merlin straightens up slightly and starts working the buckle around Arthur's waist, and Arthur falls silent, the only sound in the room his heavy breathing. The healthy serving or two of wine seems to be affecting Merlin more than he'd like to admit, however, and he feels the tips of his ears go pink as his fingers clumsily struggle with the clasp.

"Sorry," he says, finally managing to slide the belt away from Arthur's waist and letting it drop to the floor. Arthur doesn't say anything, and Merlin clears his throat before straightening up even more.

"Lift your arms," he says. Arthur does so without comment, but Merlin could swear, as he pulls Arthur's tunic over his head and tries to quell the flush he can now feel spreading down his neck, that Arthur was just looking at him with the same steady evaluation he gets on his face while hunting.

"All right." Merlin folds the tunic over his arm and exhales – Arthur usually takes care of things from here – ready to step back and make his escape. "Is there anything else –"

"Merlin." Arthur's hands are suddenly on either side of Merlin's face and Merlin looks up with a start, allowing himself to be drawn forward until his forehead is pressed against Arthur's and their noses are almost touching.

"Uh," Merlin stammers, lifting his hands to grab hold of Arthur's wrists. "Sire?"

Arthur doesn't say a word, just closes his eyes and breathes through his nose, and Merlin keeps very still, mingled panic and something else a little warm and tangly rising in his gut. When Arthur moves his thumbs in a slow, cautious caress of Merlin's cheekbones, Merlin's knees start to shake and he has to fight just to stay crouched where he is. His thoughts are racing with everything from _Dear God this is_ the prince of Camelot _and I absolutely cannot_ to _Dear God this is_ Arthur _and he is truly, spectacularly drunk._

"Arthur," Merlin finally manages, wishing he couldn't feel his breath ghosting across Arthur's lips and then back across his. "You should get some sleep."

Merlin can also feel the way Arthur's forehead wrinkles against his at this suggestion, and it makes his mouth go dry. "No," Arthur says firmly, and he tilts his head so their noses are brushing, their lips still just shy of contact.

"I'm not –" Merlin starts, forgetting where he was going when Arthur licks his lips and his tongue actually _touches_ Merlin's mouth. "Arthur," he chokes, "you are – you are very, very drunk, and probably not thinking right."

"'M thinking just fine," Arthur says, a slight smile playing on his lips, and Merlin finds himself irrationally aggravated by the simple fact that they're pressed close enough to share breath and Arthur's thumbs are still tracing circles over Merlin's cheekbones but he _won't open his bloody eyes._

"Oh, clearly," Merlin says, his voice rising embarrassingly in his growing hysteria. "But allow me to remind you that while kissing your manservant would only result in a stern talking-to from the king for you, I could very well be beheaded for this in the morning."

"Merlin." Arthur sighs his name and Merlin's throat closes up, any further protests dying unspoken. "Just – I have a headache, and you're talking about my father and – and beheading, and I just need you to shut up so my headache goes away and I can kiss you."

Merlin snaps his mouth shut and swallows hard and Arthur finally, _finally_ opens his eyes.

"Thank you," he says, and Merlin is actually about to say _"You're welcome"_ but Arthur thankfully tilts his chin up and slides their lips together and hums into Merlin's mouth before he can make a total ass of himself.

Merlin tightens his hold on Arthur's wrists and makes a surprised noise and kisses back, and it's a little slick and a little wine-tinted and a little bit perfect. He can scarcely believe it's Arthur who breaks the kiss to hiss _"God"_ into the air between them, because it's precisely what Merlin was thinking and precisely what he would have said had he not been so preoccupied.

"Merlin," Arthur whispers fiercely, "you have no idea –"

"I think I do, actually," Merlin says, and because his legs are about to give out and he can only be expected to maintain self control for so long, he climbs onto the bed and doesn't even put up a fight when Arthur immediately pushes him back against the pillows and climbs over to straddle his lap.

"This is –" Merlin says, incapable of holding back a burst of short, incredulous laughter in between kisses. "Arthur, we really, absolutely can _not_."

"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur says, and then he rolls his hips against Merlin's and Merlin can only gasp and roll his hips back.

"You are," Merlin says breathlessly, "completely drunk, you know," – Arthur's only response to this is to peel off his undershirt and toss it on the floor – "and if we do this," Merlin continues, fingers scrabbling for purchase on Arthur's hips, "I will be taking advantage of you in a moment of weakness."

Arthur pauses in his task of unbuttoning Merlin's shirt to raise a skeptical eyebrow. "Weakness?" he repeats.

It's only belatedly, when Arthur is grinding his thigh hard against Merlin's dick and alternately biting and sucking at the sensitive skin on Merlin's neck and collarbone, that Merlin realizes bringing up "Arthur" and "weakness" in the same sentence will always, no matter what the circumstances, come off as a challenge.

"Oh God," Merlin groans, clutching at Arthur's bare shoulders and trying not to buck his hips so hard he knocks Arthur off of him. Which is precisely what he _should_ do, of course, and what he would have already done if he were a morally responsible servant, but either the wine or his increasingly uncomfortable level of arousal has completely fogged up his head, and the only thing he can think to do at the moment is arch his back and whimper. Arthur's response is to start pressing kisses lower and lower to his chest and stomach.

It's going to be embarrassing, Merlin realizes, even in his largely incoherent state, if he comes before Arthur has even technically touched his dick. But the farther down Arthur's mouth trails, and the more persistent his leg gets against Merlin's hard-on, the closer he can feel himself getting.

"Stop," Merlin grates out, utterly unsurprised when Arthur doesn't even appear to have heard him. It's not a word he's accustomed to hearing, after all. " _Stop_ ," he repeats, twisting away slightly, and this time Arthur at least notices, although instead of having the decency to look apologetic he just looks pissed off.

"Just –" Merlin gestures down, flustered, unsure of what to do or say. "Come here," he says at last, and the scowl wipes itself from Arthur's face when Merlin reaches out and starts to untie his trousers for him. Arthur swiftly follows suit and does the same for Merlin, and as soon as they're both completely naked Merlin doesn't even take a moment to think twice before he's wrapping his hand around both their dicks and burying his face against Arthur's neck and jerking them off while Arthur digs his fingers into Merlin's sides and gasps into his hair.

It surprises Merlin when Arthur comes first, although not nearly as much as it surprises him when Arthur barely waits for himself to stop shuddering before he's batting Merlin's hand away and sliding down the length of his body.

"What are you –" Merlin begins, and then Arthur's lips are wrapped around his dick and he doesn't remember how to speak anymore.

Merlin wants nothing more than to savor the sight of Arthur gripping his thighs and sucking him off for the rest of his life, his cheeks hollow and his face flushed and his sweat-streaked hair getting in his eyes, so it's only natural that Merlin comes within about six seconds. Arthur makes a strangled sound but, to his credit, doesn't do anything worse to Merlin than shoot him a glare, and after he's leaned over the side of the bed to spit – _I'm going to have to clean that up in the morning_ , Merlin thinks with a hint of annoyance – he slides back up to Merlin's level and kisses him again.

It starts out messy and heated, but their kisses become increasingly slow and gentle the longer they lie there, curling their fingers into each other's hair and occasionally forgetting to pull back and breathe, something that makes Merlin's stomach lurch in an entirely new but not unpleasant way if he thinks about it too much. By the time Arthur has dozed off against his chest, Merlin is blinking wearily with his own exhaustion, and he thinks just before letting himself fade that he could get used to this particular line of duty.

 

When Merlin wakes up in the morning, Arthur is reclining against his pillows and watching him steadily, his eyes shining with something Merlin can't quite identify.

"Um," Merlin says, clearing his throat and trying not to go instantly red. "Good morning."

Arthur's mouth twitches, but he doesn't smile. "Good morning."

"How are you feeling?"

"I have a headache," Arthur says.

This is probably Merlin's cue to get up and fetch him some breakfast and a remedy from Gaius, but he's finding it much more enjoyable to try and tangle his and Arthur's feet together under the covers.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Merlin says, his face screwed up into as serious an expression as he can manage. "Maybe his highness should think about the potential repercussions of consuming too much wine before he gets carried away next time."

Arthur raises an eyebrow and smoothly traps Merlin's feet between his own – _Competitive even in footsie_ , Merlin thinks with exasperated amusement.

"Maybe," Arthur says. "And maybe my manservant will exercise greater self control next time he is put in a position to take advantage of his prince." He pauses to consider for a second before adding, "Or at least see to it that he gets a glass of water before he goes to bed."

"Hmm," Merlin says, grinning at Arthur's growing smirk. "Right. I am probably the worst manservant ever."

"As if there was ever any doubt," Arthur agrees, but when he rolls over and pulls Merlin into a kiss, it's obvious he doesn't really mind.

_end_  



End file.
